


Quality Screentime

by LittleGreenPlasticSoldier



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Exhibitionism, Exhibitionist Dean, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Masturbation, Phone Sex, Sex Toys, Sexual Content, Shy Dean, Smut, Vibrators, Voyeur Dean, Voyeurism, Webcam/Video Chat Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 07:51:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7352380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleGreenPlasticSoldier/pseuds/LittleGreenPlasticSoldier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You introduce Dean to the concept of video calls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quality Screentime

“Dean?”

“Hey baby, how’d you go? You okay?”

“Mmmmmmmhang on.”  You scootch down under the covers a bit more, nestling into the pillows with the phone beside your head and pull the blankets to your chin.  “Yeah, I’m okay.  I’m achey from a whole pile of digging.”

“Y’had a spirit?” he drawls.  You imagine he’s horizontal somewhere too.

“Yeah, pretty straight forward. We need to get a short saw in the trunk too.  For tree roots.”

“S’an idea,” he says and you hear the quiet tinkle and _buh_ of a beer being sipped.  “Where are you?”

“Well, I got back a few hours ago,” you sigh, wriggling in the perfect warmth of the bed, “tried not to check every room in the place, coz I’m always jumpy when I come home alone to an empty bunker, had some o’that roast in a sandwich-”

“Oh hey hey, slow it down,” he says.  “Don’t blow that off.”

You giggle and see if you can get your description to be as saucy as the sandwich was. “Oh baby, let me break that down for you,-”

“Yeah, I’m listenin’.”

“So I toasted a little bread, just tanned it-”

“Yeah.”

“-and got out the roast an’ a coupla forks, pulled the meat to shreds, got it all mixed up in that sweet gravy in the tray-”

“Oh,” he pulls a breath through his teeth, “oh god I had paper-pulp burger for dinner.  Redeem me baby.”

“And because I’m a good, good girl-”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I slapped a slice of tomato on that-”

“Salad items? You are a good girl.”

“Yeah I went all out.  And then I layed down a nice thick slice of cheddar on that puppy and slipped it under the grill.”

“Mother of fuck,” he groans. “I think my fingers just made their own grease in sympathy.”

“Yeah they did.  So I made a mess of that, licked myself clean in front of the TV-”

“Oh _c'mon_. Do ya gotta?”

“Hm-hm! And then I went and pruned up in a steaming hot shower and now I’m here in my jammies in my nice warm bed, all toasty so I can listen to your gorgeous voice put me to sleep.”

“Damn,” he says, shuffling himself around to get comfortable.  “Damn, Baby.  That sounds perfect.”

“You sound perfect,” you tell him.  “Tell me how you’re doing.  Where’s Sam?”

“Sam,” he sighs, “Sam has taken himself off to a bar to trawl for a nice girl.  An’ I’m stuck here without you - I mean, I’m clean.  We got the job done in our suits-”

“You haven’t showered yet?”

“Nah, I wasn’t sure I’d catch you, so called first.  Anyway, the room is warm, technically, but not warm like you.”

“Mmm, I miss you too,” you say, staring at the ceiling.  “I was gonna sleep in your bed but… I dunno.  Seemed sad.”

“Why would you wanna do that?”

“So I can pretend you’ll be slipping in beside me before I wake.”

“Hmm, I love that.  You’re all out of it and snuggle up like it’s instinct.  And then I’ve gotta decide if I’ll be kind to you and let you sleep or kind to me and wake you up.”

“So much kindness,” you sigh and feel your hand on your belly, brushing your skin along the edge of your waistband.  You lay there and listen, holding the phone hot against your ear and wait to see if he has anything to talk about.  

He’s laying against his headboard, propped on the pillows, and staring at his socked feet at the end of the navy trousers, beer in hand and dank carpet all about.  

The silence makes you wonder.  “You okay?”

“Yeah! Yeah I’m good.  Good as ever-”

“Oh shit-

“Oh shaddup.  I’m fine.”  You giggle, glad to get his surly side going, and he talks over you.  “Givin’ me shit on my little contemplative moment.  Jesus.”

“Yeah? What were you contemplating?” you ask, your voice high and tight with the smile.

He breathes deep and clears his throat a little.  “Nah I’s just thinkin’ how I never notice the motel rooms anymore, when you’re here. All I care about is a bed and a little privacy.  It’s been ages since I noticed the smell or the sheets, whatever.”

“Yeah? I smell that bad do I? Overwhelm the mould?”

“You _distract_ me.  In the best way,” he says.  “And we seem to find the shittiest holes every time you’re off solo. Shittier than I remember anyway.”

“Surely there’s some sort of romance in it?”

“Y/N, you’re beautiful and smart, but no.  Fucking no.”

“Hey, there are- you’ve got the same kinda phone as me yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Hang on a tick, I’m gonna check something.”  

“Okay-” the line goes dead and Dean pulls his phone away to peer at it and mutter, “You said _hang on._  How can I hang on a dead line?”

Then he’s glaring because his phone is ringing a ring he’s never heard before, telling him you’re asking for a video call.  So he swipes and watches what happens.

His face appears on your screen and you burst out laughing.  “I’ve never _seen_ you look so suspicious!”

“What is this gypsy magic?” he grumbles, dimples suppressed.

“It’s a video call,” you laugh.  “Hey.”

“Hey,” he smiles.  “Well, this is new.  I’m pretty sure I look like shit though.”

“Never.  Show me the room.”

“Yokay,” he puts his beer down, flips the screen with a tap and pans around. “There you go.”

“Oh yeah, I smell that.”

“Rank right?” he agrees.

“Is that your shirt undone?” you ask, spying the tails near his belt.

“You like that?” he tilts the phone until it’s panned all the way up his belly to his face, nodding with a cocky grin, upside down.  “All the way baby.”

“Not all the way by half,” you scowl.  “Get it off.”

He flips the phone camera back so you can see each other.  “What take my shirt off?”

“Yeah,” you chuck a nod.  “Give us a layer.”

He looks at you on the screen for a moment, thinking, and licks his lips, grinning when you smile at him coz that gesture is such a give away for him. “Alright, you get a layer,” he says, pretending he’s rolling his eyes.

“Find a way to prop the phone on the side table,” you instruct, and wait however long it takes for him to figure something out.  You think maybe he’s leaned it against the lamp with his wallet in front of it, muttering _Bossy, bossy, bossy_ as he makes it all stay in place.  “How’s that?”

“Perfect,” you tell him, doing much the same at your end with a few books.  “Me?”

“Yeah- aw, you adorable little shit.  Look at you with your pajamas all over the place.”

“They’re always like this,” you frown confused.  “And my hair’s a bird’s nest.”

“Let it down,” he says, like _duh_.  So you do and absently pick up the ends for inspection once it falls around your face. He watches it cascade and tumble, something he tries to catch at the end of a day, completely unconscious to the way it Pavlovs his cock awake.  “Fuckin’ gorgeous Y/N,” he sighs low, and in a moment of reply you smile, making all the curves of your face shine sweet.

“Go on then.  Shirt,” you smirk.  

He mock groans at the job and pulls it off without much fanfare.  From the way the phone is angled you can see across the bed, from his chest to knees if he leans against the headboard, but he’ll have to lie diagonally if you’re to see everything.  

“Hey, put your head on the pillow and your feet down the corner.”

“Like this?”

“That’s it.”  You check your angle in the little screen and pull the covers down out of the way.  You figure with the higher table, he’s got a better view of you, hair to knees at least.

Settled in, you roll over and look up, tucking the pillow to prop your chin. He’s watching you arrange yourself, little crinkles by his eyes that show he’s smiling a little.  His skin looks warm and he waits for you to get comfortable.

“Okay,” you say.  “Singlet.”

“What? No, your turn-”

“No I’m wearing like three things.  Singlet to even it up,” you insist.

“Uuuuuh,” he grumbles, but manages to pull it over his head.

“Roll over, I can’t see you.”

“Jesus, what’s to see,” he grumbles some more, getting onto his back.  

“Why you being so shy?” you ask, rolling almost onto your back again.  “You done anything like this before?”

“No,” he sighs. “In my day we had to use words.  Just chiselled ‘Tits hot’ into the tablet.  It’s weird without you here.”  He looks up, rocking himself so he can roll his head back over the pillow to check on you, and you get this bewitching line of sight - his jawline, the side of his neck and his shoulder, the hair tussled, lips slack, the horizon of his chest and the legs trying to help him see. And his eyelashes. They’re always longer from above.

“Dean,” you lean in for it. “Damn I miss you.”

He relaxes, dropping flat, and rolls sideways to see you more easily. He looks like a Cosmo photoshoot. “I miss you too.”

You unbutton your pyjama top and pull it open to reveal the flat of your chest but not your breasts, then shuffle the waistband down so the dip of your hip is clear.

“What’s that?” he scoffs. “That’s nothin’.”

“I’m teasing,” you clarify and absently feel the patch of skin you’ve revealed just above your thigh, the private patch there.  He watches your fingertips skate along places he usually saves for his tongue and even through the small screen of the phone you can see his pupils dilate, see his tongue edgy, thinking at his lower lip.  He doesn’t look relaxed.  

“Ok, abort. I don’t wanna do this any more-”

“I’ll take my pants off, if you will,” you cut him off.  “C’mon Dean, we’re not going to see each other tonight, and I’m definitely going to do something about it at some point.”

He stops, still eyeing your hip like its boobytrapped. “…Arright, but no more teasing,” he tells you, waving a finger at your what all.

“You don’t think teasing would be worthwhile?” you ask, and slip the edge of your shirt over one breast.  He’s distracted again, looking at the shape of it, the nipple just short of the horizon.  You keep sliding it over your shoulder, then ease the other side, watching him watch you, and when the collar is tight across the top of your shoulders you rock them up, then tilt your chest high to drag the fabric under your back.  The bedside light plays golden and warm on your chest and stomach, and the shadows are familiar.  He can imagine himself beside you, raising your goosebumps.

“…Yeah,” he breathes and chews his tongue.  “May not be a complete waste of time.”

“Okay let’s sort this out,” you decide and roll a little to see better. You cover your breasts with your arms as you’re leaning half forward, and your pj pants sit on the rise of your hip behind you.  Dean’s eyes keep flitting from your face to the way the light bounces off your curves, bareskin from shoulder to elastic.

“I wanna see you come,” you say.

“Right! We’re goin’ there-”

“But I’m betting, I have a lil’ hunch, you’re more interested in doing that while you watch me.”

Dean licks his lips thoughtfully and you can see him making predictions.  “Yep… yeah, you got me on that one,” he figures.  “If you go first, I’ll be done by that, and if I go first… I mean, I  don’t wanna watch you after I’m done.”

“Well, I think you should.” He winces, so you go on.  “Don’t worry about it.  Let’s just see what happens.”  You suspect he’s started thinking that maybe twice in a short time isn’t on the cards these days.  Whether it is or not doesn’t matter; you just want him to not worry about it.  “I’m insisting,” you say firmly.  “Please Dean, I’ve never gotten to see that. You get to watch me all the time.”

He looks away, taking a deep breath and you know he’s given in.  “I don’t know when you thought I’d be such an exhibitionist,” he mutters.

“You’re generous,” you remind him.  “Take your pants off and let me see your generosity.”

Pride flits inside him as he smirks for you, then leans on his chest to push his trousers down.  Somehow the corporate-maturity of those pants revealing the perkiest ass in town has you feeling like some tawdry matron and you suck your lower lip into your mouth.  Then he turns and sits up to pull off the pants and socks, the chorus of muscles across his back and shoulders sliding about under his skin, broad and strong, and, even in the weak light of the motel lamp, he looks pin-up perfect.  Flopping back on the bed, he shifts a little more, and when he finally picks a place to lay you can see from just above his hairline down to his thigh.  He turns his head to see you, eyebrows asking if you’re all set.

“Tuck-” you squirm on the pillows.  “Hang on.” Popping off the bed, you collect a few things, just in case, namely lube, a condom and your vibrator.  Well, _the_ vibrator.  Dean had bought it early on in your relationship, full of enthusiasm, and it was a bit daunting back then.  You’re sure he’s been waiting for you to bring it up again.  Now seems ideal.

You leave it on the bed, all out of sight and get comfortable again.  “Tuck your left hand under the pillow,” you say.

“Like this?” he asks.  The serrated muscles along his ribs shift like sunrays, his triceps bulking and waist dipping long.  Your eyes trickle over it all, the way his butt cheek cushes against the mattress, the rise of his thigh muscle and the matt of hair, and the curve of his cock, darker than the rest, especially against the fair skin of his abdomen, and you feel the image of him pull at you like vertigo.  He’s just gorgeous.

“Dean.”

“Yeah?”

_“Dean.”_

“What?”

“I _miss_ you,” you claw at the pillow.  “Holy- oh god Dean I miss you so much.  I could cry.”

“Oh baby, don’t do that.”

“Uhgod your voice too,” you put your hand over your forehead and frown, thinking about the proportions. “Can… Can you download pixels?”

“Uuuhno,” he says, quite sure.  “No, that’s not something you can download.”

“Yeah, I dunno, I had an update recently.  Maybe that-”

“No, I’m pretty confident you can’t download pixels.”

“Have you always been that big?”

“Y/N,” he rolls his head, coz eyes aren’t enough.  “That's really not how pixels work-”

“Seriously though, I know it’s a stacked shot, just- get your hand in there for some scale.”

“You want me to take a quarter for gauge?”

You laugh again, as he’s doing a jazz-hand up above his dick.  “Stop it, stop it!  Look, do you wanna do this?”

“Yes.  Okay, sorry,” he takes a breath and shifts his shoulders to relax.  “So, what’s next?”

“What do you like?” you ask.

“I can’t do what you do,” he says, tracing his fingers along the edge of his ribs between gestures. “You know when you sit on my thighs and tickle and stroke? You use boths hands and everything and it’s different.”

“Do what you like.  Talk me through it.”

“Hmm, okay… well at least my hands are warmer,” he starts, letting his fingers move over the curls and cup his balls.  “I like it when you’re gentle here.”

“That’s nice,” you say.  “I like seeing you have something nice.”  You watch carefully, trusting he’ll show you what he usually does, what he really likes, and hope you’ll remember it for next time.  

He hooks his thumb under the curve of his cock, letting his long fingers rest heavy over the shaft and pulls gently, a kind of rhythm already present.  Soon he’s got all four fingers running up and down, low on the length with the occasional trip to the tip, thumbing over the moisture.  After a while, he twists a little, wraps his fingers fully, and an airy hum flows from his nose.  

Speaking now feels almost rude, but you want to encourage. “Dean, baby, this is nearly the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Yeah?” he exhales.  His lips seem fuller, redder, and you can see his tongue play on the shine of his lip a little.  “What’s the sexiest thing then?”

“You sliding into me,” you say.

It’s low and gravelly when he hums again, his stroke now a little more than lazy, “Yeah…” he agrees.  “Baby, that’s…”

So you keep on.  “When you push into me and I can see you, watch how my body takes you-” His eyebrows pinch, the pleasant memory painfully sweet. “-I feel so lucky, so blessed.  You always hit me just right inside, spreading me, such a perfect sting-”  

“God Y/N, me too. Like… Like your give,” he talks with his eyes closed, trying to say something while he does this, but it’s a struggle. “Love the way… your body… gives.”

He’s starting to pull on his breaths, his ribs rippling the skin.  His chest starts to heave, and the muscles of his arm bunch as he keeps his fingers lax enough.

You can feel your clitoris engorging itself, almost painfully, as you work your legs together, your vulva humming with surplus electricity, and you can’t think straight enough to know what he’ll want to hear next.

Quickly, though, you figure just about any suggestion will be good.  “Love to feel your hair grind against mine when you can’t get deep enough, that little twisty-push you do, and your warm lips on my breasts-”

“Oh fuck, Y/N!” He moans it quiet but sharp and fast, and you think to mention your mouth.

“It’s all I can do to get my lips around the head, Dean, tickle the ridge with my tongue-”

“Hh-shit-”

“-show you how much I love you like that.” Your grip on the pillow is that tight your shoulders are lifting off the bed. “Taste you like that, _take_ you-”

“Uh, God!”

“You look so fucking hot, baby!  I wish your hands were on my ass, helping me bounce on that beautiful cock-”

Suddenly he curls, knees rising off the bed and all the muscles of his torso surfacing. “ _Uuh!_ Uh fuck!”  The cum is thrown onto his belly, smearing over his thumb and the web of his hand, as he gasps _Oh! Uh!_ and sucks air through his teeth, letting his arm move in habit as he pulls the pleasure from himself, chest heaving, brow ground down and lips heavy from being worked.  

Your grip on the pillow hasn’t eased, the whole thing tucked under your chest now and paying for being a poor substitute for the burning body you’re watching.  All of you points at his image, watching his system slowly disengage and rest, watching a natural phenomenon unfold.

You wait for him to speak first.  He looks down at himself, untucking his hand and half sitting up.  “Ugh… I’m such a whore.”

You burst out laughing, giggling into the back of your hand.

“Where the fuck’d my dignity go?” he grumbles, sitting up and collecting some tissues from the opposite bedstand.

“Oh sweetheart, don’t even think about it,” you chuckle.  “Honestly, that was awesome.”

He makes some resigned _Yeah_ noise and finishes cleaning up, then pulls on his boxers and trousers, fish-flopping to get them up but doesn’t do the fly.  He rolls over, wiping his clean hand over his face, and sees you grinning at him, grateful and happy, and he can’t help but smile when he says.  “Okay, it wasn’t bad.”

You grin a little more, bite your lip and raise your eyebrows.

“Possibly didn’t suck,” he smirks.  “Much.”

“Hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”  He looks at you with subdued gratitude as you speak. “Lava-level hot.”

Out of shot, you tear open the condom and slide it over the vibrator, Dean only half listening while he slow blinks in his afterglow.  With a deep breath you say “Well, I see your indignity, and raise you some shame.”

Dean’s curious, and then, when he hears the buzz of the little motor, his brow spreads in understanding and awe.  You show him the vibrator, cylindrical and fuzzy on the screen as it buzzes, and his lips peel apart in surprise.

You dimple your cheeks and nod.  “Yup, gunna give it a crack… so to speak.”

“Ho.. Ly… are you sure?”

“Yeah,” you glance at him furtively, and turn the vibration off.  “Let’s see how we go.” You’re hoping horniness and bravery use pretty much the same endorphins.

“Okay babe, it’s your call,” he says, his gaze strung to the toy as you put it aside.

You flop into your back and cock your left knee, farthest from the phone, and turn to ask “Can you see okay?”

“Yeah,” he nods, pillow shoved under his chest, forearms against the comforter.  “You look hot as anythin’.  Where you gonna start?”

You play your fingertips over your chest and across your belly, your left arm tucked behind your head as you think for a minute.  

“Well, you’re not gonna get far with pants on,” he tells you, so you slide them down and lift your legs into the air to get them past your knees, kicking them free.

“Like with me,” he says. “Where do you like to start?”

You let your fingers scoot up to your breast, warming and cupping the weight of it.  Your thumb grazes the tip, already pert from waiting, and Dean’s eyes flit between the light touch you use and the way each tap makes small tremors inside your thighs.  You work that sensation, little hums pulled in at how nice it is, and work your legs against each other, teasing yourself until the sympathetic tingle in your pussy can’t wait any longer.

Without thinking, your palm pushes down your belly, sliding your middle finger right down into the seam and back up, drawing moisture and using it between your folds.  Dean can see your finger dipping but can’t see the detail.  It doesn’t matter though; he’s been there enough, he knows how you look, inside and out.  He can keep that in his mind as he watches everything else - your chest easing up and down, the curve of your jaw, your eyelashes fanning against your cheek as you bring yourself pleasure.  This is new and alluring.

“Tell me,” you sigh, circling your clitoris like your pacing at the gate.  

Dean grabs his phone and rolls onto his back, frowning intensly at the screen when he checks “Tell you what to do?”

“Yheah,” you say and take a deep breath, rolling your shoulders, reminding yourself how good it was to watch him.

“Run your fingers up and down, either side of your clit,” he says, apparently quick with the ideas.  You follow instruction well, and feel how it trips the muscles on your tummy when you tweak the nerves.  

You thought maybe you’d get a running commentary of opinion and praise from Dean, but at this point he’s far more interested in content.  “Dip them inside, once,” he says.  “Yeah, that’s it, up and down.  Inside again?”

You duck your fingers into the plush heat, almost frustrated with the thinness and pace.  “Lil’ slower babe,” he says, and it feels like he’s in your head.  He can barely feel the thoughts leave his own mind as it is.  “Slip in and hit that spot inside, just a little.”

You dip and reach and brush your g-spot, a quick tickling tap that does nothing but hint at satisfaction.  Your voice matches the feeling.

Then he says nothing for a little while, looking at how your legs are trying to stay low and your other arm has come down to the bed beside you.  You realise then how you’re actually following his words directly, not dipping unless he says, and whine “Dean,” to prompt him for more.

“Again,” he murmurs, and you actually let out a little whimper of frustration this time, it feels so good, _like_ perfect.  “Get the toy.”

You pull your trembling fingers from your pussy, and Dean feels like you’re flaunting something at him as they glisten.  You find the vibrator and open the lube, using a generous layer.

After lining it up with yourself, you cock your leg a little, let the other fall open, and take a handful of the sheet.  “Now?”

Dean’s only half aware of the fresh grip he has on his dick, holding on like it’s a brave lil’buddy for the rollercoaster.  “Yeah baby, see how it feels.”

You push, firmly and slowly, a little surprised at how rigid it is, and then at how well it fits you.  It’s a struggle to keep your hips still, they’re so hungry for fulfillment, but the rest of you shifts by inches, trying to not interrupt Dean’s view.

“Oh, ohhhgod,” you breathe it high and desperate.  “Oh, god, Dean.”  

He gulps, heart thumping in his chest like it’s trying to see too, and tunnels in on the sight of the toy sliding into you, that hard tool disappearing into your body by your own hand, and making you feel good.

At its depth you roll your hips a little, searching for that little more you usually get from the girth and bone at the base of Dean’s cock.  You think his fist would be a good substitute with the vibrator, but you can’t get that right now.

Your spare hand dashes to your breast, grazing the nipple and lightly pinching, seeking out stimulation while Dean is frustratingly silent.  He’s pushed his pants away with the heel of his hand and it takes him a few seconds to realise you need him to pipe up.

“Pump it a little sweetheart,” he croaks, “tilt it.”

You hum in reply and do as you’re told.  It’s the tilt that relieves you, just enough, because the shape is so consistent.  “Oh god Dean, I miss you,” you whine breathlessly.  “I want you.”

He whispers “Oh fuck,” wondering if this really was a good idea.  He’s almost chewed his lips right off.  “I gotcha babe, right here.  Give that clit a lil’ flick for me.”

You spread your folds and move your middle finger over the bud, hearing Dean swear _Fuck_ again when he sees all that red flesh wanting.  You whine again and writhe a little.

“Side to side,” he rasps, “just a little,” and moans when you pitifully sigh “Ah! Yes! _Please_ ,” at him for more.

“Imma tell you to turn that thing on in a minute, and when I do, you _go to town_ on that clit, you hear me?” he instructs, deciding to make something of that rhythm he’s got going on himself.

“Okay,” you pant, your voice at least an octave higher than usual. “I’ll try.”

He watches the image for a moment.  You’re pumping the vibrator in and out of your body, your legs long and strong as they work against the bed, your breasts soft and ample, nudged high by your arm, but it’s the curve of you, the way you’re wringing yourself for it, and the ecstasy on your face that makes him tug his dick like that.

“Okay, go for it.”

You’re pretty sure you heard him say go, so you flick on the vibrator.  He hears it click to the lowest setting and your whole body reacts, a loud “Aaah!” bursting from you as you arch against the bed.  The hand at your folds loses focus and you grab at your belly, low and clawing as you get on top of the feeling.  You flick again, up a notch, and your pitch jumps accordingly as you curl and groan sharply.  When you flick it to the third setting, your body curls back so hard your hair gets in your eyes.  Your spare hand flies up to the pillow snatching strong as you cry out high and keening “Aaah! Fuck! Deeeean!” then it slaps back down to your mound, precise and ready as you fuck your hips up, pushing the vibrations against your g-spot and flicking your fingers back and forth across your clit.  

“Aaaah!  Aaa _AAHAHA!”_  You yell, almost scream, with no idea that Dean’s panting again, pulling a half-dose of cum from a heavy and warm orgasm while he watches you throw yourself through your own.

He’s galvanised by it, the sight of you flushing hot, a fresh wetness appearing around your hands, the trembling in amongst your swimming limbs, and your face wrought with pleasure and surprise, lips fat, cheeks piqued, neck taught.  He’s never seen this, not anything like this, and it’s got him slack-jawed and radiating.

Your voice starts to come down, lower with every moan, and soon you’ve turned off the vibration, then pulled the toy from yourself, and begun rolling your tender pussy into your hands, cupped warm and comforting.  When you’ve stopped moving and your breathing is languid, you taste the salt on your upper lip and pull the sheet across you as you roll over.

“Dean,” you smile lazily.

“What?”

“It’s like you’re looking through a mail slot,” you chuckle.  “Back up babe.”

“Sorry,” he smirks shyly, and soon you can see him laying against the pillow, all his colours heightened again.  You smile at each other for a few seconds before you notice, “Shit I’m down to 10%.”

“That’s good, coz I dunno what to say,” he comments, deciding to leave his other hand out of the picture and pretend it’s not sticky.  You see him glance down, frowning, and faking it when he looks back, but he can tell you know what’s happened and he gives in, grinning at the whole debacle.

“I love you,” you tell him.

“I love you too,” he says.  “And that vibrator.”

You chuckle again, and he does too.  “I should get cleaned up before Sam bursts in.”

“Yeah, okay.  I’ll see you tomorrow right?”

“Yeah, soon as.  I wanna see that show for real.”

“Hmm,  yeah I need a sexy little assistant for this circus.  Rest up baby.  I’ll see you soon.”  You kiss your fingers and send a wave his way.

It’s too sweet for words and he groans, letting the phone thunk to his forehead.  “Tomorrow,” he grumbles.  “Definitely tomorrow.”


End file.
